Good friends, good books and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.
Mark Twain
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Anything but Strong
Why do you hurt yourself?
You do it very well
You do it so politely
That you couldn't even tell
When everything has changed
You think you're not to blame
How come you keep on talking
When the whole thing feels so strange?
But seeing
Is not the same as believing
When everything goes wrong
You're anything but strong
It's all bittersweet
Outside in the street
The grass is growing greener
Underneath your feet
We come and go
Deep water flows
Tiny leaves from small seeds
To tall trees do grow
But wanting
Is not the same thing as needing
There's no need to pretend
You can't turn back again
And loving
Is so different to keeping
The hurting that we send
Is so difficult to mend
Hold on to the good things
That keep you from falling down
Hold on to the good things
That keep you from falling down
How my heart aches
More than I can take
What are we really learning
When we make the same mistakes?
Where is your hope?
It's all gone up in smoke
You used to be so funny
Now it's just the same old joke
And laughing
Is so very close to crying
When there's nothing to defend
It gets you in the end
And living
Is so very close to dying
You struggle on and on
To find where you belong
Where do you belong?